By Dawn's Early Light
by vanillafluffy
Summary: A disgraced housemaid will hang on the morrow, and so will the notorious Captain Jack Sparrow. Or will they?


**Bah, humbug: I own nothing!**  
This story is dedicated to bainpeth and doppelganger86 for being supportive correspondants, encouraging reviewers and fun peeps to hang with--in a manner of speaking.

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**By Dawn's Early Light**

"You'd best plead your belly, my dear," the old woman says to me. "Else they'll hang you at first light."

"I can't," I say dispiritedly, slumped back against the clammy stone wall of the cell. "I've no reason to." I pull my thin shawl tighter around my shoulders, trying to get warm, but the chill is in the stones, in the air, in my very soul....

She guffaws and spits, a wizened and toothless woman in her fifties, too old for such an evasion herself, but willing to help another. "Tisn't as if they can prove it, if you say it's early days."

"But I'm _not_! I've _never_--!" I stop.

If I'd done what that excuse implied, I wouldn't be sitting in this filthy, freezing jail waiting to hang. If young Master Timothy Dawkins hadn't been so bound and determined to flip my skirts up, I would've had no cause to slap his face. If I hadn't slapped his sneering face, he wouldn't have accused me of theiving his gold ring that somehow turned up under my pillow. His father, Master Timothy Dawkins the elder, promptly had Charleston's magistrate throw me into jail without ever asking my side of the matter. What's the word of a scullery maid against the honor of his heir, after all's said and done?

My head droops lower. I can lie and live, or tell the truth and die young for something I didn't do. What a choice to have to make.

"Go on," she urges me. "You're just a kid yourself. Go, tell them."

I rise stiffly; I've been sitting there for many long hours, and it's been a cold December day. It's twilight now, the deepening blue of the sky visible through the cell's high barred window.

"Hallo," I call through the bars. "Please, is anyone there?"

One of the guards swaggers over. "Whatchoo want?"

"Please, sir, don't let them hang me. I--" I stumble over the words. "I'm going to have a child."

He rolls his eyes. "Course you are," he drawls. "Ain't hardly a woman comes through them doors oo's not gonna 'ave a baby."

I bite my lip and my numb hands clutch at my flat stomach. I've said it so that it could be true, someday, if they don't hang me on the morrow. But why should he believe me? Like he says, every woman who can get away with it uses her belly to evade the noose. And even the most feeble attempt on their part to prove it will catch me out.

"Wait," he says, and walks away down the aisle between the cells.

I sag against the bars. Cold metal tonight, cold earth tomorrow, and I feel wretched. I haven't the energy to stand even for a moment. They're going to hang me. I've never done anything bad to anyone; I'm a good girl--but in one day I've lost my situation, my character, and soon, my life.

Booted feet tramp back toward the cell, and I'm dumbfounded as the guard unlocks the door with a thick iron key. I look back over my shoulder at the old woman, who raises a hand in farewell. I ought to thank her, but I just give a little nod and follow the guard. Then, he turns left where I was sure he'd be turning right, and my heart skips a beat. They're going to examine me. Or somehow, they already know I'm lying---and I'm going to be punished more---although I don't see how they can punish me more than they are by hanging me.

We're walking between rows of barred doors. They're going to lock me away until I can prove I'm with child, I think, and my heart sinks. It may delay the noose, but not for long.

"Here now," says the guard, smiling evilly at me, stopping in front of one of the cells and brandishing another key. "This bloke's up for the 'angman in the morning and the poor gent's feelin' a bit lonely. And since you already got a bun in the oven--" he leers at me "--there's no 'arm done if you keep 'im company 'til we're ready to turn you loose and take 'im out to 'ang."

The key turns in the lock, and he pushes me into the cell, slamming the heavy door shut behind me. "No! Wait! You can't do this--!" I beat on the door, but there's no answer.

There's a chuckle from behind me, and I turn to see a man sitting on a narrow stone bunk. He's much older than me---I guess he's at least thirty---with weathered skin and tangled, dark hair hanging down around his face. "Be nice to a poor condemned man, Miss. Come on, it's my last night on earth."

He says it in such a jovial tone that I stare at him. Frantically, I try to think of an appeal. If I tell him the truth, what's to stop him from telling the guards and getting me hanged alongside of him? Mother always said the worst lies have a way of coming true, and I have a feeling this may be one of them.

Shivering, I cross the cell and sit down beside him on the bench. I attempt a smile.

"Tisn't as bad as all that, lass," he says, putting an arm around my shoulders. His clothing is none too clean, nor is he; I catch a pong coming off him that makes my nose wrinkle. For this I slapped young Master Timothy? I am such a fool.... "My name's Jack, what's yours?"

"It doesn't matter, does it?"

"If you say so," he says, regarding me. "I'll call you Dawn, then, since that's how long I've got." He leans over and kisses me soundly on the cheek. "Hullo, Dawn. How's it with you?"

"Do what you're going to do and be done with it!" I snap, staring at the closed door. I never imagined they'd be this wicked--but what's not true now, may well be true by morning.

"Come on, love--that's no way to be," Jack says to me quietly. "If they have their way, I'll be crowbait, this time tomorrow. No proper send-off, nobody to mourn me--I just want a little warm company while I'm still warm myself, is that such a lot to ask?"

One of his fingers gently toys with the little wisps of hair that have straggled out of my plait. There's nothing worse than feeling sorry for yourself, unless it's feeling sorry for someone who's even worse off than you. I start to cry, and Jack pulls me against him, but he's not pawing at me as Timothy Dawkins did. His arms are gentle around me, and for the first time all day, I feel warm.

He's talking softly to me...he keeps calling me Dawn, and I want to say he's wrong, but it doesn't seem to matter...I'm so warm...it's nice being in his arms...he doesn't smell bad, really, just different...his skin tastes of salt beneath my lips--or are those my tears? Not important...I'm warm, that's all that matters. He lays me down in the straw--it's cleaner than the straw in my old cell--there's not enough room on that pitiful bunk for two people to do more than sit.

I'm past objecting...past caring, really. I've stopped weeping. It all seems to be happening in a dream. He's unlacing my bodice, nimble fingers hot against my skin, fondling my bosom. Jack's hands are clever, touching places no one has ever explored before, stirring up feelings I've never imagined my body was capable of. It's so lovely...I yield to his caresses, to his mouth upon mine, his tongue lightly tracing the curve of my lips.

Somehow, without me quite knowing how it happens, he gets my clothes off. All of them. I guess must have cooperated, for his quiet reassurances and skillful hands have gotten me completely naked. He's naked now as well, and I look at him curiously. There are scars on his tawny flesh, and strange markings as if someone has drawn on him with a pen and a bottle of India ink. And...I blush. It isn't as if I've never seen such a sight before--but not one that wasn't still in diapers!--and this is decidedly full-grown.

When those knowledgeable hands begin to stroke my thighs, I have a moment of panic, but fight it back. I've already decided I must do this thing, and obviously, Jack is familiar with the process. It isn't unpleasant, what he's doing. He's taking his time about it, and there's no point at all in fussing.

His body covers me like a blanket. I relax as best I can, allowing him to do what he's going to do. I certainly don't expect to like it, but after the first shock of him, it's not so bad. Not bad at all....Jack is patient, or perhaps he's enjoying it as well. That must be it. I shouldn't enjoy this, but I do...it's as if he's kindling a fire inside me as our bodies rub together. I feel warm through and through, shivering from waves of heat that roll over me and consume me.

Jack pauses now and then, catching his breath, sometimes asking me to change positions, or telling me how grateful he is for my company, murmuring the name that isn't mine into my ear, as if, if I am Dawn, there will never be another and the hangman will be forever cheated.

At last, he achieves his release, and he clings to me as I did to him when I wept. He's not crying, that I can tell, but I realize for the first time how strong he is--he's the wiry sort, looks skinny as a rail but has sinews like iron. His grip will leave marks on my arms, but I say nothing. I am not Dawn, and I will not be the last one he sees. The bruises he gives me will surely outlast him, unless capricious fate hangs me beside him.

Lying there, I feel older and wiser and terribly tired. I want to comfort him some more, but my eyelids are drooping. Finally, I'm perfectly warm and comfortable, and without meaning to, I fall asleep. There's a banging on my door...it's Mrs. Brewster, I think. The housekeeper will be cross with me if I've overslept--but it's not dawn yet, is it? I'm so stiff and sore and....

Two things happen at the same time: I realize that the voice shouting nearby is not Mrs. Brewster---is not, in fact, Mrs. Anybody, but a guard bellowing that the pirate who was to be hanged has escaped. And I discover I am laying stark naked in a pile of straw, surrounded by Jack's clothes.

Oh, they're tempted to hang me in his place. I'm terrified that they will, but from the way they found me, even they can tell what's happened. Jack waited until I nodded off, dressed in my clothes, and managed to talk his way to freedom. I can't very well blame him for that. I'm glad that he's not going to hang at dawn. He was kind to me, though 'twas for his own reasons.

It's queer to stumble out through the prison doors wearing Jack's old clothes. The creased linen shirt, roomy on him, is a tent on me. I grip the breeches firmly to keep them up. Thankfully, he left my slippers; my skirts were long enough to hide his boots, I suppose--the better for me to hurry away from the grey stone building before they think of another pretext to lock me up. I must look a fright, with my hair straggling down under the heavy leather tricorne and odd, over-sized garments.

Dawn's early light trickling into the street makes me blink. Where I'm going next, I have no clear idea. I can hardly go back to the Dawkins house. The full import of my situation comes home to me. I have no job, no reference, no money--and I've just been relieved of my virginity by a man who's stolen my clothes. I start to laugh. I can't help it; dawn has come and gone, and I'm not going to hang today, and neither is Jack, wherever he is.

Leaning against a shop's wall, I'm bent double with laughter. Jack's pants--my pants, now--threaten to fall off my hips. I laugh even harder. I'm ruined--I have no notion how I'm going to get breakfast, let alone how I'm going to survive respectably, if such a thing is still possible--and at the moment, I'm so happy to be alive and free that it doesn't seem to matter.

"Good morning, love!" says a cheerful voice---a familiar voice, belonging to someone wearing a very familiar dress. Looking at him, I have another attack of the giggles, he looks so silly in blue muslin. How in the world did he manage to pass himself off as a girl? He's using the shawl as if it's a head-covering, so he looks as if he's wearing a veil. "Oh, boo-hoo, woe is me! That awful old pirate did the most dreadful things to me," he mock-sobs, falsetto, and kisses me firmly.

Outraged, I slap his face. "You needn't think that because you had your way with me once, I'm going to let you make a habit of it!"

"I didn't deserve that!" he says, with wounded dignity. He rubs his cheek. "I thought you might like your dress back."

"Planning to trade right here in the middle of the street?" I retort, trying to sound stern and not to start laughing again.

He grins at me. "I've got a room," he invites me. "You're welcome to share it with me. Well, actually, I'm about ready to move along, if you know what I mean. I'll be sailing on tonight's tide."

"If you know what's good for you," I agree solemnly. "Getting away from here would probably be a good idea."

"I can give you a little something, to help you get on your feet," he tells me as we walk through the slowly awakening streets. The guards said Jack was a pirate, so his 'little something' has most likely been pilfered from someone. "Sound good, Dawn, m'darling?" Jack looks at me with raised brows.

"Thank you, Jack," I say, and smile at him, warmly.

Since I haven't any other choices that I can think of, I'll take whatever he offers. Yesterday's dawn knew me as an honest, decent girl with a situation. Now, I've been cast down, deflowered, and am on the verge of accepting a pirate's ill-gotten gains. And if I'm caught, why, I will plead my belly without a second thought.


End file.
